Aura

This post is from Sam, Lincoln's dad.

We all think that our own children are cute. We all think that our own children are special. Its written in our DNA. Its a kind of biological imperative assuring that, no matter how annoying they get or how mad at them we can become, we will always think that they are too cute to actually hurt.

Lincoln's different.

He was born with an aura.

Yes he's cute and sweet.. blah, blah. I'm his dad, so it doesn't really count when I say that. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean that he has an aura.

There is a space around Lincoln that projects peace and serenity. Its not large, but when you enter that space, you know it. You can literally feel it. Of course he has his moments... his sleepless nights, his rejection of strangers, his screaming at the notion of eating solid foods, but those are the exception that prove the rule.

He makes you realize that everything is going to be all right. Somehow, he imposes a peace on you that you never quite expect. Its almost like a subtle smell, like a pheremone of tranquility. Its hard to describe.

One of the reasons why I hate that Linc's grandparents all live so far away is that they aren't exposed to this aura on a regular basis. These wonderful people who pray for him and agonize over his progress and wish the best for him are denied the daily dose of his calming presence. I know what that's like. It drives you crazy.

When Linc was in the NICU for the first 17 days of his life, we were all tortured by the demons in our minds of 'worst-case scenarios' and 'what-ifs'. Images of a devastating hole in his heart, or a phantom problem with his lungs, or random fears for his future as a person who wears the label of their disability on their face, all came unbidden into our minds. We all talked about it, were very open about it. These thoughts tortured us all.

But only while we were away from him.

The instant any of us approached his little bed in the NICU, those concerns melted away. Despite the incessant mechanical beeping, and the heart-breaking scenes of sick babies all around, those concerns just melted away. His aura would just wash over us, cleansing all those fears and anxieties. His very presence was theraputic for us. It still is.

Its my job to help Lincoln figure out how to move his body and learn where it is in space. I get a lot of help from professionals, but they only see him a few times a month.

I am his primary therapist.

I didn't expect for him to become mine, too.